ere the only evidences of man's possession, save
for the ladder that would presently be carried back to the cove. No
inquiries were made as to how Brick came and went, where he found food
and a bed, or how he happened to be present at the precise moment of
the arrival of the bearers of news.

"Dear Brick," Lahoma began: "By this time you have hidden where nobody
can find you, for you've got my telegram and you know I wouldn't have
sent it if it hadn't been necessary. You believe in me, and, as you
would say,--how I'd love to hear you--you act 'according.' Well, and I
believe in you, Brick, and you needn't imagine as long as you live that
anybody could make me think you anything but what I know you to be, the
kindest, most tender-hearted, most thoughtful man that ever lived. Get
that fixed in your mind so when I tell what they say about you, you
won't care, knowing I'm with you and will believe in you till death.

"I'm going to skip everything except the part about you, for this
letter goes by next mail. There's ever and ever so many other things
I'd love to tell you, and I don't see how I can wait, but I'm going to
find out, for wait I must. Maybe I ought to begin with Mr. Gledware so
you'll know more about him when I begin on the main news.

"We are at his house now and the house-party is in full swing. Mr.
Gledware is pressing his suit to Annabel with all his might, and her
mother is helping him. Nothing stands in the way--for she wants to
marry him--except her love for Mr. Edgerton Compton. She told me all
about her old romance with Wilfred--you remember him, I guess? She got
to liking Edgerton after Wilfred went away because he looked so much
like Wilfred. Maybe he does, but he isn't the same kind of man. Mr.
Edgerton has spent all his money on fixing up the outside of the house,
but Wilfred has spent his on the furnishings. Well! If Annabel could
change her heart from one brother to the other just because Edgerton
reminded her of Wilfred, I guess she won't have a very hard time making
another transfer, especially as Mr. Gledware is traveling her way.
When I love anybody, my love is the part of me that comes alive
whenever that person is present, or is mentioned. So how could I slide
it from one man to another, any more than the man himself could change
to another man? And that's the way I love you, Brick, and not all the
wealth or fame or good looks in the world (and you have neither) could
get my